Revelations
by Kuurankukka
Summary: Recent intel from the Nemesis tells Optimus Prime his past with Megatron may have produced results. Ratchet doesn't know what to think about all this. Mechpreg.


Beta'ed by Kemmasandi!

The realization hit slow, but when it did, it hit with full force. His optics widened as a cold shiver ran up his spinal struts. His vents hitched as he drew in a sharp gust of air, clenching and unclenching his fists in a rapid motion. He paled as the hue of energon flowing underneath escaped the surface of his faceplate. His helm felt empty and heavy the same time, his spark constricting in its casing in a painful rhythm. His tanks churned as the barely detectable hint of half-processed energon creeped up his intakes.

He had been a fool to think nothing would come out of it. The undeniable proof of the possibility though, now openly discovered by his high command, lay before him like a criminal offense ready to submit for prosecution.

His unease had not been gone unnoticed.

"Sir?"

"Prowl." Optimus acknowledged, turning to face Ratchet, and continued with a stern voice:

"Jazz, Ironhide, Red Alert. Please excuse us."

The bots exchanged looks of concern, confusion and suspicion, Ratchet's judging gaze staying nailed on the Prime as the others left the room. It didn't help the Prime's shocked dread one bit. He leaned on the conference room table with both arms, certain he wouldn't be able to conceal the tremors emitted from his frame.

He swallowed, and then spoke.

"Targeting Megatron will cease effective immediately."

Ratchet rolled his optics.

"That much is a no-processor, though I'm sure telling this to your Head-of-Tactics would be more appropriate."

The Autobot leader could detect the unasked question hidden in his Chief Medical Officer's jibe.  
There was no reason to beat around the bush.

"I wish to remind you anything discussed here will not leave this room without my explicit consent. Is that understood?"

A nod, though the expression on his friend's faceplate was unreadable. Optimus dearly hoped he didn't have to do this.

"In your educated estimation, how far along do you think he is?"

The medic closed his optics and shook his head. A brief gust of air escaped his vents, leaving no question of his disappointment.

"He is a mech of relatively large size, so for the gestation to become visible would mean he has already entered the third trimester. Additionally, the amount of time he has not been actively leading battles matches pretty decently with this estimation." He kepts his optics stern on the quivering Prime.

"Which would mean…" Optimus began, but couldn't bring himself into saying it out loud.

"The estimated conception date could reach since before your meeting before the Council."

Hearing it made the Prime grimace and hung his head down in shame as he sat down by the table. If Ratchet had been uncertain before, there was no doubt about it now.

The awkward silence between the two was only broken by the slight humming of their systems and Optimus' heavy venting while he was busy burying his faceplate into his giant hands; almost protectively, as if he was expecting a wrench colliding with his helm at any moment.

After a few minutes though, and still no wrench, the only reaction from his CMO was but a huff in defeat. "Do you want me to leave you alone with this information, or do you want to talk about it?"

The Prime was taken aback by this rather unusual offer. Slowly, he revealed his sunken expression from behind his fingers once again.

"No… It's just - a lot to take in." He managed to utter without his voice breaking.

"I'll say." the medic agreed, his words dripping with irony. He couldn't even look directly at his friend's direction. If he had, he would have seen the slightly flickering lights of his optics reflecting from the surface of his digits.

"It is simply—how could this happen?" the Prime whispered.

A snort. "The usual way, I'd presume."

Optimus ignored his friend's snide remarks. "I never even considered the possibility. What is going to happen now?"

"Well, from my honest opinion, since he hasn't terminated, he wants it. Either to use against us, or he plans to drop it on our doorstep immediately after the emergence, provided you indeed are the Sire… Of which, as I remind you, we can only suspect at this point. If you are, for your and the sparkling's sake, I am hoping the last option."

The Prime didn't say anything after that, and for the first time since the revelation Ratchet forced himself to check up on his friend. The utter look of devastation and shame made him soften his attitude a little.

"…Look. I don't know what you and Megatron had before the war. It's your business, not mine. I just wish this could have been averted, for several very understandable reasons."

Optimus listened keenly and nodded, though his expression didn't become any less grim. "I understand and agree with you, completely, in all regards."

Silence again, this time to be broken by the Prime's comm link. It was Jazz.

"Prime? Everythin' alright in there? You didn't tell us how long you need."

"Just fine, Jazz. We will let you know soon." he replied, and closed his comm.

His initial shock lessening, he felt his ability to think reasonably returning bit by bit. Even Ratchet seemed calmer now.

"In war, we must always be prepared for the unpredictable. Though I don't think this was something anyone could have guessed," the medic finally stated.

"You're right, my friend," the Prime agreed.

"Have you decided on what to do?"

The Autobot leader nodded. "Currently, we need more intel. On the sparkling's paternity, and Megatron's plans on it, in case it indeed is… mine." Saying it out loud still felt unreal.

"I ask you do not reveal any of our suspicions for the others just yet. I will put Jazz's team on the job. He needs to know, but only him… For now. There's no need for any rumors to spread in case… it is a false alarm." he concluded.

Ratchet nodded in understanding. As their meeting had come to an end, he opened the door, while the Prime commed Jazz once again to meet him in the conference room. Ratchet quietly made his way towards his own quarters, hoping nobody would notice the small trail of lubricants that had insistently begun appearing on the sides of his optics.

_A/N Look at that, I actually managed to write something! Hopefully there is going to be more of my writings coming later! _

_Rates and reviews greatly appreciated!_


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